


Lost Without You

by ToTheStarsWriting



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: AU, Always, Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Depression, F/F, F/M, Goes AU midway through the finale, Hurt Quentin Coldwater, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon Fix-It, Protective Eliot Waugh, Sensory Overload, Sort Of, TRIGGER WARNING for those with anxiety, There is frank talk in here sometimes about depression, Triggers, bamf Margo, doing my best, not just brushing it off, or anything like that, or pretending like magic is a cureall, sensory issues, to fix the finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-01-22 21:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18535684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToTheStarsWriting/pseuds/ToTheStarsWriting
Summary: Down in the Secrets Room with Penny40 and Quentin, something happens that changes the course of everything, with far reaching ramifications that none of them could've predicted. Because there was no way that the story of Quentin Coldwater was going to end here. Not now, not like this. Not when there were so many people who still needed him in their lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MonPetitTresor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonPetitTresor/gifts).



> This is me being furious at the finale. I have another fic in mind that I got from a friend (who also requested this one) but this is me taking what happened in canon up to the finale - midway through, right before the bonfire scene - and then doing my best to fix what canon fucked up. It's gonna be a challenge because I'm not just going to dismiss Alice and pretend that didn't happen. And I'll *try* to incorporate what we saw as the potential future fro the others. I want to do right by *all* characters. BUT, that said - this is primarily a Queliot story, and they are the main focus :D
> 
> I have no idea about update schedules. This is my first time posting on here in a long, LONG time. So, yeah. I hope you like it. I know the fandom is a smaller one, but let me know what you think!

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

That was all Quentin could think, over and over. _It wasn’t supposed to be like this_. He wasn’t supposed to die just to save the lives of his friends. He wasn’t supposed to be sitting here in this stupid little room wondering if that’s what he’d really done, if he’d really saved them, or if there’d been a part of him that had just… given up after everything they’d been through. If that part of him that he’d always fought against, always tried to ignore, had finally found a way to get what it wanted.

“ _What did I do_?” he’d asked Penny, clutching at that stupid hot chocolate, trying so hard to pretend that he was braver than he felt right then. Because more than anything he felt _terrified_. And Penny had asked: “What do you think you did?”

That question was terrifying. To someone whose brain was like Quentin’s, who had to fight against the dark thoughts and second guesses, the doubts and insecurities, questioning his motives for something was always a dangerous thing. No matter what he did, no matter his intentions, there was a soft, secret voice inside Quentin that whispered _you know what you did_ , and he hated it, hated himself for thinking it. Yet once he did, he couldn’t seem to get rid of that thought. He couldn’t chase it away. It stuck there, spinning round and round, taunting him, souring everything with its dark light.

_“Did I do something brave to save my friends, or did I finally find a way to kill myself?”_

“Okay,” Penny said, nodding his head. He didn’t look disgusted. Didn’t look like he thought Quentin was being an idiot – which, to be honest, was a more common look from him. No, he just looked… calm. “I can see we’re gonna need the deluxe package, which – it’s okay. No surprise.”

The way Penny smiled at him, like this whole thing really was okay, made it just a bit easier to breathe for one brief moment. And then, like the flick of a switch, everything changed.

Something began to gather in the air around them. A feel of magic so much stronger than anything Quentin had known. His eyes went wide as he watched Penny, wanting to ask what this was, what Penny was doing, only to watch as Penny went completely still. His eyes were wide as he tilted his head upward, staring up at the ceiling with confusion and shock. That wasn’t the most reassuring of looks.

“Penny?”

“I’m not doing this.” Penny kept his body still while his head moved slowly, eyes tracking around the room as if he could see something Quentin couldn’t.

The magic grew stronger. It was like it was taking all the air out of the room. The sensation of it was so strong it was smothering. Quentin tried to suck in a breath – did he even technically need to breathe anymore?? – only for it to catch in his lungs until he was choking on it. The room grew a little hazy around him. Somewhere, he thought he heard Penny shouting out his name, only it didn’t sound right. It sounded… _worried_?

Then Quentin couldn’t focus on it anymore. A huge gasp finally broke three of the magic that was choking him, only he didn’t draw in air – it was like he drew the magic down inside of him, letting it run free through his body.

The last thing that Quentin heard as the world whited out around him was Penny’s voice shouting his name.

* * *

The world came to in a dizzying swirl of light and sound and color that felt beautiful and nauseating and terrifying all at the same time. It was bright, and yet dark. Loud – so very loud. His ears were screaming from it. Curling in, he pressed the flat of his hands over his ears, trying to stop the sound, to stop all the noise from ripping and tearing and breaking him apart, clawing at his eardrums, _please, please stop!_

He didn’t realize that the words came tumbling past his lips until everything around him went silent. For one blessed, peaceful instant, there was no sound, no _anything_. Just the cold hard ground beneath him, and the softness of his shirt and jeans against his skin. Everything else was so _quiet_. He felt like he might be able to breathe without it breaking him. That maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to move, too.

Little by little, so slowly, he drew his hands away from his ears. For just a heartbeat he let them hover there as if in fear the sound would come back. When it didn’t, he let them move away.

Next were his eyes. Though the light didn’t seem to be blinding anymore, even behind his eyelids, that didn’t stop him from maintaining his hesitance as he slowly blinked them open. A second later he was hissing and slamming them shut once more. There was the soft sound of someone moving and then a _click-clack_ as the room seemed to darken even more.

This time when he opened his eyes it was much, much easier to see. The room wasn’t completely dark but it wasn’t blindingly bright, either. Slowly, carefully, he looked around, taking in not just the strange place that he was in, but the even stranger people that were nearby.

There was a man squatting just a few feet away, not moving, not saying anything, just watching him. His expression was kind of curious, yet that wasn’t exactly helpful. Who on earth was he and why was he staring?

Two women were standing behind him holding on to one another. One of them – the taller, tougher looking of the two – was staring like she was stunned, but it was nothing compared to the way her companion looked. That woman was smaller, with none of the hard edge of her partner, and she was gaping right at him with a look on her face like someone had slapped her.

It took a lot of effort to get his hands down to the ground. The coolness that had felt so good on the rest of his body felt _awful_ on his hands. He pressed himself up as quickly as he could so that he wouldn’t have to touch it anymore, only for his head to start to spin.

“Woah there,” the guy said, his voice pitched low enough to not grate on the ears. “Careful. Your brain’s still a little scrambled in there. More so than usual, I mean.”

The smaller woman took a step forward, coming up toward the guy’s back, eyes on him the entire way. “Oh my God,” she breathed out. “Oh my God. Q?”

She said those words like they were supposed to mean something. Like there was something big, special meaning that he was supposed to get, only he _wasn’t_. And having them all stare at him was doing nothing for the tight feeling in his chest, or the crawling sensation on his skin that was prompting him to scoot further away from them, to clutch tightly at the hem of his shirt and twist it between his fingers in a gesture that was only a little soothing.

Again, it was the guy who seemed to get what was going on. He held a hand back toward the girls, never once moving to look at them. The expression that passed over his face was startlingly _sad_. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

The women both seemed to suck in a breath at that. They waited, staring. Having that much attention on him only made him want to twist his hands even more. Pressing his lips together, he gave a quick shake of his head. Was that the right answer? The wrong one? He didn’t know. _He didn’t know_. Everything felt… it felt wrong. Off. Like he’d been taken apart and put back together, only he’d been poured back into a body that was too small, the skin too tight.

It helped a little when the guy smiled at him. Softly, gently, like someone would look at a terrified kid, but it was nicer than the growing horror that the smaller woman had, or the heavy mask the other woman put up. “That’s all right, man. My name’s Penny. You and I… well, we weren’t friends, but let’s just say we didn’t hate each other, either. At least, not here. These girls behind me, they’re Julia and Kady, and they _are_ your friends.”

Penny. Julia. Kady. Those names rang in his mind, only… they didn’t mean anything. No memories came with them. Nothing to help him place the names to their faces. He wasn’t sure which one was Julia and which one was Kady. They said they knew him, but… right now, _he_ didn’t even know him. He tried to dig through his brain to come up with his own name, only to come up blank. What was his name? _What was his name!_

A grimace briefly tightened Penny’s features. Then it smoothed back out into that same calm look as before. It was far easier to look at him than to look anywhere else. “Your name is Quentin,” Penny told him, and how had he known what he – _Quentin, my name is Quentin??_ – was thinking? Penny huffed out a breath, his smile turning just a bit wry. “Sorry. Your shields are down right now, dude, and your mind is practically screaming.”

“Penny!” the taller woman hissed out. She darted a look at him – Quentin – and then back down at Penny. “If he doesn’t remember, do you really think you should be talking about that?”

Penny didn’t look away from Quentin. “Calm down, Kady. He remembers magic. Don’t you? You didn’t even question how you got where you were, or when you felt Kady use it to close the curtains.”

If the taller woman was Kady, that meant the shorter one was Julia. Julia was staring down at Quentin like he was everything she’d ever wanted. Like Christmas and her birthday were all rolled into one. At the same time, it was such a _sad_ look. “How does he remember magic, but not remember us? Or himself?”

“How do we know it’s really even him and not someone who just looks like him?” Kady asked.

Quentin opened his mouth, ready to say – what? What could he say? He had no idea who he actually was beyond what they were telling him. How could he explain that this was really him if he didn’t even know who he was?

In the end, he didn’t have to. “It’s him,” Penny told them all. “You can’t fake someone’s head like that. Everyone’s brain gives off a certain… feel. Trust me, I’d know his brand of crazy anywhere.”

There were a thousand different questions that bounced around in Quentin’s mind. Was his name even Quentin? Were this people for real? Or were they just some group of strangers who were going to take advantage of the fact that he _couldn’t remember anything_. How would he know whether or not to believe them? It wasn’t like he had any way of knowing if they were telling him the truth. They could tell him that his name was Susan and he wouldn’t know any better!

His thoughts kept twisting and turning, and with each new question he came up with that tight feeling in his chest grew tighter and tighter. It was getting harder to _breathe_. Quentin found his hands gripping at the rough material of his pants in a desperate attempt to anchor on something that felt _real_.

“Hey, hey.” Julia was pushing her way away from Kady suddenly, darting around Penny but only a bit. She dropped down to her knees just a few feet in front of him and then held her hands up in a gesture of peace. “Look at me, Q. Look right here.” Everything about her was gentle. The way she looked at him, the tone to her voice. It was easy for Quentin to latch on to it. Some part of him felt almost instantly soothed by the sound of her speaking. When she smiled at him, it was a little bit easier to breathe. “That’s it. Just look at me for a minute. I know you don’t know who I am right now, but my name’s Julia, and you and I grew up together. You’re my best friend. I know this feels like a lot to take in right now, and your brain is probably freaking out on you.”

Quentin huffed out a raspy laugh. “You could say that.”

It was the first time he’d spoken since they’d all started talking to him, and the sound of his voice seemed to make them all twitch. Julia, though, she gathered it together quickly and nodded at him, even smiling again. “Yeah, I bet. It’s always been your worst enemy. What you’re feeling right now, I’m pretty sure that’s an anxiety attack. You used to get them a lot when we were kids. But it’ll go away. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it will.”

Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one that felt like their chest was going to explode or their skin was going to crawl right off their body and run away.

Quentin pushed those darker thoughts back as best as he could and just focused on Julia. If he did that, it was just a bit easier to keep breathing, to keeping riding it out.

“This whole thing, I know it probably seems scary to you, and you’ve got no reason to trust us. But we just want to help. That’s all. Will you let us help you?”

That seemed like such a huge question. Quentin stared at this woman who claimed to have been his best friend, a woman he couldn’t remember yet felt strangely calmed by. Logic would say no, don’t trust these people. He had no idea who they were! But the rest of him – he didn’t know why, didn’t understand it, but he found himself wanting to trust her. To believe what she had to say. Before Quentin could overthink it, he found himself saying “Yes.”

The smile he got for that was bright enough to light up the room. “That’s great, Q. First things first, we should probably take you somewhere a doctor can look you over.”

“Brakebills,” Kady said, sighing heavily. “Great. My favorite place.”

Julia chuckled and actually winked at Quentin. “Ignore her – she just likes to complain,” she said in a soft whisper. Then, without any of the hesitance she’d shown so far, Julia held a hand out toward him. She didn’t say anything, didn’t pressure him. Just held her hand there and left it up to Quentin what he wanted to do.

If he’d thought her smile was bright before, it was nothing compared to the one he got when he put his hand in hers.

Maybe he was making a mistake. Maybe these people didn’t really know him, and they were out to get him, or kill him, or something else entirely. Who knew? They were all Quentin had right now, though, and a place inside of him _wanted_ to trust them. This big, empty place where it felt like there should be so much, only there wasn’t. Maybe if he went with them he’d be able to fill that place. Maybe they’d be able to find a way to help him remember who he was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm hopeful this isn't way too OOC, but I make no promises. I've never written these guys before and it's not as easy as the other characters I'm used to writing! :P But, I do hope you guys like this, and thank you so much for your comments/kudos so far.
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter because, honestly, it should've been a part of chapter one. I didn't realize that until after it was written, but it all would've gone a lot smoother if I'd made that one big chapter. So, my apologies for this being shorter.

So apparently _traveling_ was a thing. Penny, who they kept calling _Twenty-Three_ for some reason or other, had told them all to grab on, and then he’d just _teleported_ them to some strange new place that was a lot brighter than the last one. This place was bigger, too. The room they were in was wide open, with tons of windows and a whole bunch of beds, and some part of Quentin that he didn’t quite understand immediately labeled it _hospital_. He didn’t know how he knew, only that he did, and that it left him a nasty feeling of dread on the back of his tongue.

Julia seemed to understand it, however. She took hold of Quentin’s arm almost the instant they landed. Gentle fingers curved over his arm in a way that left him feeling surprisingly safer.

As Julia pulled him away, Quentin could hear Penny and Kady talking behind him, trying to be quiet. “I’m gonna go grab the others,” Penny was saying. “They deserve to be here.”

“And if it’s all a fake? If that’s not really him?” Kady whispered back.

“They deserve to know that, too.”

Quentin didn’t get long to try and figure out what they were talking about. Julia walked him right up to one of the women nearby, and the next thing Quentin knew he was sitting on one of the beds with his shirt off while someone looked at him through a bunch of different colored lenses on the end of some weird thing she pulled out of her pocket. Kady was standing off to the side by Julia, arms crossed over her chest.

“Interesting,” the doctor murmured. Julia had introduced her as Professor Lipson, the head of the Healing Department here at Brakebills, which was apparently a _school for magic_. One that Quentin had gone to, they said, though they got a little shifty at that point. It helped their case that Professor Lipson sure seemed to recognize him. It had eased Quentin a little more and made it that much easier to actually think of himself _as_ Quentin and not just some nameless nobody.

“What is it?” Julia asked. “What do you see?”

Professor Lipson drew back and snapped her little glass thing together. She was eyeing Quentin like he was some particularly interesting specimen. It left him wanting to shuffle back away from her. “There’s definitely the remnants of some serious magic on you. Stronger than anything any of you or your friends would be able to manage, that’s for sure.”

“That’s… great/” Quentin asked. He took in the look she gave him – dry, eyebrows up, a slightly scornful twist to her lips – and he ducked down a little. “Or not.”

“Most definitely not, Mr. Coldwater. Whatever this is, even with it being clearly weakened now, it’s still too strong for me to even think about doing anything to try and help. If I tried, there’s no telling what might happen. It could make your amnesia permanent, if it’s not already, or it could shred your mind apart.”

“Yeah, no, mind shredding definitely sounds like a bad thing. Let’s just avoid that,” Quentin said.

Beside him, Julia snorted, and there was a small little smile playing on her lips when he glanced her way. She caught his look and it made her small smile grow big enough to light up her face. “Good to see that even amnesia doesn’t change some things.”

“You probably think that makes sense, but it really doesn’t.”

Julia chuckled, low and easy, and the sound of it made Quentin want to smile back at her without even knowing why. She looked like she was about to open her mouth to say something, only they were all interrupted by a low, shaky “ _Q_?” that seemed to echo through the room around them despite the softness with which it was uttered.

Slowly, with a strange feeling of _something_ lodged in his chest, Quentin turned his head. Penny was standing not far off to the left side of Quentin’s bed, and there were two people standing there with him, both of them staring at Quentin like they’d seen a ghost. Which, from what Quentin was beginning to understand, wasn’t that far off of a description.

One of them was a short, feisty looking woman. She was gorgeous, and she held herself like she knew it, too, fully confident in the strapless medieval dress she was wearing. Her hair was done up in some fancy decorated bun on the back of her head, and for a brief moment, Quentin swore he saw a crown sitting there, though it vanished quickly.

He forgot about that as soon as his eyes moved to the other person – the one who’d spoken in such a shaky voice.

This guy was absolutely, unfairly gorgeous. Tall, thin, and impeccably put together in an outfit that both seemed to match the woman’s, and yet was closer to modern. Black breeches, some sort of strange shirt with a weird vest that was, again, black, though it had some gold threaded through it. Over it all was yet another item of black, a coat. Even his hair was dark, the curls hanging down over toward his eyes – eyes that were wide and locked right on Quentin’s face with such a look of shock and something else, something _warm_ , it stole Quentin’s breath away.

“Holy fuck,” the woman breathed out. She was clutching at her friend’s arm, Penny forgotten as he broke away from them. She stared right at Quentin and then turned a surprisingly sharp, threatening glare towards Professor Lipson. “Is it really him?”

Professor Lipson didn’t flinch under her glare, which Quentin thought was kind of impressive. It wasn’t even directed at him and _he_ wanted to flinch. “Best as I can tell, it’s him.”

That seemed to be all the two needed. In a flash they were moving forward, and the woman was right there, punching Quentin on the arm. “Don’t you do that again, you asshole!” she snapped. Then she was hugging him tightly, yanking him forward so that he had to either hug her back or risk falling right off the edge of the bed. He might’ve flailed a little. Not that he thought anyone could blame him, really.

“Bambi.” The guy’s voice was just as nice as the rest of him, smooth and cultured. “Let the boy breathe.” He had a hand on the woman’s back – Bambi? Really? Was that her name? – and was giving Quentin the saddest smile that he’d ever seen. Though, seeing as how he couldn’t remember anything, that really wasn’t saying much, was it? “Twenty-three warned us you’re having a bit of a Memento moment, but let me say how good it is to see you back, Q.”

There was so much _weight_ to those words. Whoever this guy was, he drew on a mask like it was no big deal, but there was weight to his words that suggested so much more was hiding underneath. Quentin didn’t know why he found himself wanting to pick at it until he found out, he just knew that he did.

He drew his hands back in when the woman pulled back from their hug. It took effort to resist tugging her in closer again. Strangers though they might be, her hug had been nice. Really nice.

Some of the mask on the man’s face softened. Then, to Quentin’s surprise, he was moving in to take the woman’s place. Unlike her super-tight hug that had thrown Quentin off balance and left him feeling both cared for and threatened all at the same time, _this_ hug felt… safe. Long arms closed around him, one hand coming up to cup at the back of his head, and Quentin found himself being pulled in close, cradled against a firm chest, his head tucked under the other man’s chin. There, Quentin could hear the pounding of his heart, nowhere near as calm as his outside suggested. It was strangely _soothing_.

Quentin brought his own hands up, able to do more than just flail this time. He managed to catch the edges of the guy’s jacket in a move that felt kind of like muscle memory. Like his arms knew what to do even if his brain didn’t.

Some of that weird, jittering, too-small feeling faded away under the firm pressure of this guy’s hug. Quentin didn’t know why and he didn’t really care at the moment. Not if it meant he got to feel like he fit inside his own skin for the first time since he’d woken up on the floor. In a move that should be embarrassing, yet wasn’t, he turned his face in enough to bury it against the guy’s coat, hiding from the light. At the same time he didn’t even notice he was rubbing his fingers against the material.

He thought he heard a soft, “Oh, sweetheart” that was like a whisper against his hair. Then the pressure of the arms around Quentin shifted in a way that somehow managed to enfold him even more. There was just enough pressure coming from all sides of him now it actually drew a gasp from Quentin. He found it so much easier to _breathe_.

“Didn’t you say something about letting him breathe?” Kady suddenly said, interrupting their hug with a harsh jolt that had Quentin trying to jerk backward. He’d almost forgotten that the others were even there.

After only a brief, reluctant pause, the man let Quentin go, allowing him to pull free and sit back on the bed. He didn’t go far, though. He didn’t even move away from Quentin’s bedside. Instead, he turned to look at the others, and that mask that Quentin had noticed before was fully in place now. One eyebrow went up, and his smirk was just a bit sharp at the edges. “I’m sorry, were you looking for a hug, too? I’m sure your girl wouldn’t have any problem obliging you.”

Bambi – that _couldn’t_ be her name, but Quentin had no idea what else to call her in his head other than _the short, angry woman_ – shot her friend? partner? a chiding look. “Eliot.” There were a ton of words packed into that single one. It was kind of impressive. The man, Eliot, smiled brightly, yet said nothing else. It had Bambi snorting and rolling her eyes. Crossing her arms over her chest, she chose to ignore everyone and look at Professor Lipson. “So, what the fuck happened?”

“I think _I_ might have the answer to that.”


	3. Chapter 3

So far Quentin felt like he’d been handling this whole _waking up not knowing a damn thing_ pretty freaking well. Sure, he’d had a minor freak-out, but like, who wouldn’t? Other than that he’d been handling things pretty well. He hadn’t freaked out at finding all these people that knew him, or at the way some part of him kind of felt like _he_ should know _them._ He hadn’t freaked out at being magically transported to a hospital where the doctor checked him out with _magic_ without, you know, _asking_ him.

But he was fast approaching his tolerance. Having a new girl show up that everyone else clearly knew, and who looked at him like she knew him – only her eyes sort of ached as they watched him, darting between him and Eliot in a way that wasn’t happy if the hard press of her mouth was anything to go by – it was pushing Quentin towards the far end of _too much_.

“You mind sharing with the class, then?” Julia asked. There was a sharper edge to her words than there’d been with anyone else so far, like she wasn’t all too happy with having to talk to this girl.

No one was looking at him. They were all looking at this new girl. Or, at least, Quentin thought so. Right up until he felt Eliot’s hand settle firmly over his knee. It had Quentin’s gaze snapping over to him. He found Eliot watching with a much softer expression than he’d been showing the others. There wasn’t that tightness around his eyes, or the harder edge to his smirk. It was more an actual _smile_. “That’s Alice,” he said, not seeming to care about interrupting the others while he gestured towards the new blond girl. “She was your, well, from my understanding she was your girlfriend. Again. I can’t keep up with how on and off you two were, honestly.”

His _girlfriend_? “What?” Quentin heard the squeak in his voice and flushed from it. Still, it didn’t stop him from darting his eyes over to her briefly, and then over the others, trying to see if maybe someone would start laughing. Like maybe they were joking around with him or something. There was no way this woman was his girlfriend! Had they _looked_ at her? Quentin might not remember who these people were, but that didn’t mean he was dumb enough to think that anyone who looked like _any_ of the people in this room would be interested in _him_. It was hard enough looking at them and believing they were all his _friends_.

He felt a bit guilty as he saw her flinch slightly at his tone.

The moment was thankfully saved from getting anymore awkward by Bambi of all people. She turned back to Quentin and gave him a searching look. “Has anyone actually introduced us all to you?”

“Uh, sort of?” Bringing his hands together, Quentin twisted them a little in his lap, uncomfortable with the way that everyone was now looking at him. “I mean, a little bit. Penny introduced them to me when I was, well… but then they just, uh, they brought me here and…” He trailed off, not quite sure what to say. It kind of felt like a dick move to start complaining about them just tossing him in here without much explanation or even getting his permission, considering they were doing it all to try and help him.

Bambi turned a scathing look towards the others that clearly told them all how much she thought they were idiots.

The hand on Quentin’s knee gave a squeeze that brought his focus back to Eliot. “I’m Eliot, as you’ve probably already heard, and you and I… you are one of the two most important people in my life, an honor shared only by Bambi over here.”

“Who isn’t actually named Bambi,” she chimed in. “It’s Margo.”

Eliot grinned up at her. “High King Margo, technically.”

“But we probably shouldn’t get into that yet.” Reaching out, she pat at Quentin’s leg right next to where Eliot’s hand still sat. “This is probably a lot to take in, and your brain hasn’t exactly had the best friendship with you in the past.”

“Uh, you guys think maybe we should focus a little more on the girl with the supposed answers over here?” Penny interrupted.

The way that Margo and Eliot both turned to give Penny equally unimpressed looks was enough to draw a sharp, entirely inappropriate laugh from Quentin. He slapped his hand over his mouth the instant it came out. Still, he got a few glares and a few looks of amusement.

The girl – Alice, he needed to remember her name was _Alice_ – looked like she was trying to wipe all the emotion from her face.

“Zelda’s been helping me get a bit more accustomed to the Library and it’s inner workings,” she said, voice just a bit flat. Quentin’s laughter drained away under her stare. She was watching him like she couldn’t look away, yet also like it hurt her to look. She kept talking, though. “We were working on something yesterday when we got an inter-office communication from the Underworld branch. They had a huge breech in their wards.”

“Quentin,” Julia breathed out.

Alice made a small, dismissive gesture with her hand. “Yes and no. Obviously, we couldn’t go down there ourselves, but we got a report from Penny. Our Penny.”

The hand on Quentin’s knee pressed down as Eliot leaned forward. It brought him close enough to murmur “Not this Penny, a different one. The original one, at least. It’s a long story I’ll explain later.”

If anyone noticed Eliot’s quiet murmurs, they didn’t say anything about it. All of them were still looking at Alice, who barely paused for Eliot to finish before she kept going. “He works in the Secrets Taken to the Grave department now. He was in the room with Quentin, ready to help him process and move on, when something stole him away. Penny was pretty sure it was God magic. But not just our Gods – he said it was too strong.”

“The Old Gods,” Penny – this Penny – said.

Alice hesitated and then nodded. “That’s our best guess. No one’s stepped up to claim credit for it, but it’s the only thing that makes any sense.”

“It matches with what I found on him,” Professor Lipson chimed in, reminding them all that she was still there, listening right along with them. “The residual magic that still hasn’t faded is more powerful than anything else that I’ve ever seen.”

All of this sparked a much bigger discussion that only halfway made any sort of sense. Everyone seemed to dissolve into one big back-and-forth then about ‘regular Gods’ verses ‘Old Gods’ and what it might mean for Quentin – and for them. Julia was the one to speak up and voice the only question that Quentin had. “So why the amnesia? If they resurrected him and put him back together, why doesn’t he remember anything?”

“Whoever did this didn’t seem to really have all that much finesse,” Alice said slowly. She gave Quentin a look that was just a bit apologetic, though he didn’t know why. It wasn’t like _she_ was the one to have done it. Then her eyes were darting away from him again, over each of the others in the room. “It might take a while for his head to get things in order again.”

“Might?” Margo repeated. She’d clearly latched onto that word just the same as Quentin had.

Alice grimaced. Then she gave a little half shrug. “There’s no book for this. No precedence. Q’s memories might come back once his brain starts to settle again, though there’s no telling how long that’ll take to happen. Or… or he might not ever remember it.”

And that – that was it. That was the moment when Quentin reached _too much_.

He didn’t really think about what he was doing. Didn’t think or _care_ about what anyone else might think. One moment he was sitting there gaping at her right alongside everyone else, and the next he was scrambling off the bed so fast he almost hit the ground. Eliot’s hands were there to catch him, to help support him, but even his nice touch was too much for Quentin right then. As soon as Quentin’s feet were steady under him, he jerked away, not wanting _anyone’s_ hands on him.

Everyone turned to watch his mad scramble. Eliot stayed half-seated on Quentin’s bed, and a hand held out to Margo kept her in place, but the others were all turning toward him. Julia had risen from her chair to slowly make her way around the foot of the bed, her hands held out in a gesture of peace in front of her. “Q…”

Quentin cut her off with a quick shake of his head. “I need some air.” He needed to be far, far away from this room and all these people.

“I know this is a lot,” Julia continued, moving another step closer to him. “It probably seems crazy to you…”

A sharp, bitter laugh tumbled past Quentin’s lips. “You think? I woke up on the floor of some strange place surrounded by people I don’t know without any clue about who the hell I am, feeling like I don’t even fit inside my own skin. Then I find out that these people are supposedly my friends, and oh, yeah, magic’s real, too. Surprise!” He threw his hands up in an explosive gesture he couldn’t keep inside anymore. Once he did it, it was like he finally gave his body permission to start twitching, hands shaking and flapping in front of him to punctuate his words, which were getting steadily louder and louder. “Then, _then_! You guys fucking _teleport_ me to a _hospital_ , and you expect me to sit and smile while someone else I don’t know comes over to check me out, and you, you didn’t even _ask_ , and now some chick is here talking about the underworld and resurrection and Old Gods, and I, I _can’t_ …!”

Everything cut off with a sharp wheeze. Quentin’s heart felt like it was pounding in his chest, and his skin was stretching tight again, crawling along his bones to pull itself taut. His hands clenched and unclenched in front of him like they were trying to grip on to something that wasn’t there. His sanity, maybe?  He felt like he was going insane.

“All right!” Eliot pushed himself up off the bed with that declaration. “I think that’s about enough of that right now. Bambi?”

“On it,” Margo said immediately. She pushed away from the bed, too, only instead of coming toward him like Eliot was doing, she moved into a position that clearly put her between them all. Hands on her hips, she was an intimidating pose even from the back. Quentin could only imagine what she looked like if he was able to see the glare that was no doubt on her face. “All right, assholes, listen up…”

Whatever she said to them was lost on Quentin. He blinked his eyes and it felt like Eliot was suddenly right there in front of him. Unlike Julia, he didn’t hold his hands out like he was approaching some sort of terrified animal, even if that description felt terrifyingly accurate. He came right up to Quentin and slung an arm around his shoulders without an ounce of hesitation. The move was smooth and easy, like he’d done it hundreds of times before.

When Quentin flinched, he ignored it, using that hold to draw them both around so that they were facing away from the others. Then he tugged Quentin forward. “Come on. I don’t know about you, but I could use a smoke break.” Eliot’s lip curled up a little as he looked around the hospital that he was dragging Quentin out of. “Count yourself lucky you don’t remember this place, Q. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but really, I doubt there’s anything that could make me fond of this place. Who actually _likes_ hospitals, anyway?”

Quentin let Eliot drag him out of the room, trying to ignore the stares that seemed to linger on them as they went. He couldn’t care about that right now. He couldn’t worry about what everyone else was thinking or feeling. Not until he got his own brain back under control.

Getting outside helped. Being out in the fresh air seemed to make it easier for Quentin to suck in a few deep breaths. That much air after briefly having so little sent his head spinning, though. If it weren’t for Eliot leading him somewhere and sitting him down it was likely Quentin would’ve just hit the ground. As it was, he found himself seated on a stone wall staring at the back of a building and a whole bunch of grass and trees.

“We’re back behind the medical building,” Eliot explained as if he could see the question on Quentin’s face. He was sitting on the wall next to him, his hand on the back of Quentin’s neck in a grounding touch that was really, really helping. Eliot must’ve been able to tell that Quentin could see him again. He smiled and gave Quentin’s neck a squeeze. Both gestures were almost unbearably fond. “Go ahead and freak out, Q. No one’s back here to see it. Or hear it. Margo won’t let them come after us.” He gave a low, easy chuckle. “I like to see anyone stupid enough to try.”

“I don’t… I’m not…” A frustrated breath shook Quentin’s chest. He flexed his hands in front of him again and wished desperately he had something to clutch at. “This is just… it’s a lot.”

“Coming back from the dead and not remembering anything? I think anyone would be a little bit scrambled after that.”

Quentin lifted one shaking hand to push his hair back from his face. “Yeah.”

He heard rustling, and then Eliot was holding out a cigarette. After a second, Quentin took it, his fingers going through motions that felt familiar even if they weren’t, bringing the cigarette to his lips and letting Eliot light it. Once they both had their own cigarettes lit, Eliot relaxed a little more, his hand off Quentin’s neck only to now rest on his leg. It was like he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop touching Quentin in some way. The fact that Quentin felt himself relaxing under it each time was the only thing that kept him from questioning it.

“I get that this isn’t easy…” Eliot began slowly.

Quentin couldn’t quite help his snort. “You think?”

That earned him a sideways glare that almost instantly had him snapping his mouth shut. Eliot’s lips twitched like he was amused by that. His voice, however, stayed steady, albeit a bit dry now. “Yes, yes, you’re a tiny little ball of anxiety. I hate to be the one to break it to you, sweetheart, but that’s not anything new.” He pat Quentin’s leg in a gesture that was half-caring and half-patronizing. “Now, what I was _trying_ to say was that it might not be easy, but you don’t have to go through it alone. I get that you don’t know us, and that probably makes this whole thing weird. But all of us, we… care about you.”

“That… doesn’t really make it easier.”

He was surprised when Eliot chuckled. Slanting a look over at the other man, he found him staring off into the trees, a distant sort of look on his face. “No, I imagine it doesn’t.”

The feeling of guilt was back. It sat down low in Quentin’s stomach and twisted around like a snake until he felt like he might be sick. The only thing he could do was curl a little more tightly into himself and take another drag off his cigarette. “Sorry.” Quentin dropped his gaze down so that his eyes were fixed on his legs. It was easier than looking at his companion right now. “I’m sorry, I just, God. I’m exhausted, and I haven’t even done anything. It’s apparently making me an asshole.”

Eliot let out a heavy sounding sigh. In the next second his hand was giving Quentin’s leg a squeeze. “You’re not being an asshole. Not this time, at least. Cranky, maybe. But considering you just got resurrected and shoved back into your body, I think we can forgive you being a bit tired and cranky. Luckily, that’s something we can fix.” That hand gave one last pat against Quentin’s leg and then drew away.

The loss of that touch was surprisingly difficult. Quentin wanted to grab for Eliot’s hand and drag it back; hold on to it until the world started to make a little more sense again.

“Come on,” Eliot said, pushing up to his feet. He gestured for Quentin to do the same. “Let’s see if we can slip away before anyone realizes we’re doing more than just having a cigarette. If we’re fast enough, we might be able to get to the Cottage before they start to figure it out, and you can have a nap.”

“Oh thank God.” A _nap_. That sounded _amazing_. Maybe if Quentin got the chance to sleep he might start to actually feel like a normal human being again.

Maybe he’d even wake up and actually _remember_ something instead of all this big empty _nothing_ in his head where he could tell things were supposed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll get some outside POV while Quentin's sleeping :D


	4. Chapter 4

This wasn’t how Eliot had pictured their reunion going. He stood in the doorway of his old room here at the Physical Kids cottage – which still had his stuff, thanks to a few creative wards and curses Margo must’ve put there – and stared at the sleeping figure curled up in a tiny ball in his bed. The sight was a familiar one, even if the bed Eliot was used to seeing him in wasn’t this particular one. Quentin was always, _always_ cold when he slept. Even in the height of a Fillorian summer when everyone else was wishing they could pull their skin off just to get a bit cooler, Quentin would still end up shivering in his sleep.

With someone else in bed with him, that meant he’d plaster himself to them, leeching all the body heat that he could. When he was alone, it meant _this_. A small, curled up shivering ball packed under whatever blankets he could get.

Eliot watched him and didn’t try to fight the pang of fondness that swept through him. Nor the longing for simpler times. Times when he could’ve gone and lifted up the blankets, slipping down into bed beside him, and it wouldn’t have been strange. Quentin would’ve welcomed him, even. Not even waking up fully before he’d be rolling over to try and press himself as close as possible, giving those happy little sighs and snuffles he always gave when Eliot would wrap himself around him. He’d press in close. Tuck his head down to fit under Eliot’s chin, and nose at his chest a little.

Even when Arielle had shared a bed with them, they’d always ended up with Quentin squished between them, the perfect _little spoon_. Arielle had laughed over it a few times when it’d been just her and Eliot awake. She never would’ve laughed to Quentin’s face. No matter how kindly she would’ve meant it, it would’ve hurt him, and for all that she was willing to fight with him she never willingly did anything to cause him pain.

 _Unlike you_ , Eliot’s mind sneered at him. He winced at the painful truth of it. Arielle had entrusted the care of their husband to him, and Eliot had fucked that up spectacularly.

And now…now that they had Quentin back, now that Eliot had his chance to fix his mistakes and be as brave as he’d promised himself he’d be…Quentin remembered nothing. _None of it_. Not his friends, not Eliot, not their past, not even _himself_.

Eliot wasn’t sure how long he would’ve stood there staring at Quentin if it hadn’t been for Margo coming to get him.

She didn’t take that long to find him; not that he’d thought she would. She knew him better than anyone aside from Quentin. And because she knew him, she came at him with worry in her eyes. They both knew that Eliot hadn’t been back in the Cottage willingly since the night of their memorial for Quentin. He’d told her why, too, explaining about his _Happy Place_. If the Cottage had ever been his happy place in the past, his time with the Monster had ruined that, taking what had been a good feeling and turning it into one of dread.

Margo didn’t say anything at first. She just slipped herself up against Eliot’s side and curled into him, her hand coming to rest protectively over where his wound had been. A wound that had taken time to heal. The damage from the possession had left Eliot’s body weak and frail in a lot of ways. He’d spent far too long with stitches and a cane as he’d healed.

Eventually, Margo broke the silence. “You can barely tell he’s even in there under all those blankets.”

A small smile tugged at Eliot’s lips. “Don’t let that fool you. Get close enough and he’ll yank you down in there with him.”

“I’m sure you’d really be protesting that.”

The smile came out full bloom this time. Here, with her, he didn’t have to pretend. Didn’t have to try and cover up what he felt. She knew – she’d always known, even before he’d found it in him to say the words to her. To tell her, in all his grief, about every wonderful, amazing, frustrating, perfect memory he’d had of that other life. Of _his_ life.

“Come on.” A soft tug against his waist drew Eliot out of his thoughts. “Everyone’s downstairs for a quick powwow about this latest mess. Let’s go see if we can figure out how to fix this.”

Eliot let her tug him away from the door. They paused only long enough to close it and to make sure that the wards snapped into place when they did—there’d be no one more secure than Quentin right now, which was the only way that Eliot was able to walk away from him and not give in to the terror that kept trying to insist he’d come upstairs and find him gone. Pushing away that fear as best as he could, Eliot followed Margo down the hall. “I don’t think amnesia is something you can troubleshoot away, Bambi.”

“Well not with that kind of attitude. Don’t get all mopey on me now, El. We’ve got Q back, a general idea about what happened to him, and pretty good chances that there’s nothing coming to screw us over along the way with it. Now, you wanna come and help us figure out how to fix what the gods screwed up, or you wanna stay up here and stare longingly at your Bella?”

“Twilight, Bambi?” Eliot raised an eyebrow at her, judgment clear.

She snorted and gave him a dry look right back. “You actually understood that reference.”

That… was far too valid a point. One that Eliot chose to simply ignore in favor of going down the stairs.

The two of them reached the main sitting room where countless meetings and parties had been held in the past. Penny23, Kady, Julia, and Alice were all waiting for them. It hadn’t escaped Eliot’s notice that they hadn’t come across anyone else while they were walking through here. Though a look at Margo’s determined expression had him pretty positive he knew what had happened. He wouldn’t put it past her to force everyone else out of here. For all that it was the Cottage for the Physical Kids here at Brakebills, it’d somehow become _theirs_ , all of theirs. Margo had joked once that they should build a new Physical Kids dorm and just keep this one tucked away here for all of them. Like a one-stop meeting point. She’d made it sound like a joke, but Eliot was waiting for the day she finally got it done.

“How is he?” Julia asked the instant they were in the room. She was sitting on the couch clutching at Kady again, holding her hand tight, and Kady was a protective wall of anger issues and death glares at her side. Their relationship wasn’t one Eliot claimed to understand.

Still, he could understand Julia’s relationship with Quentin, at least a little. Enough to respect that she honestly cared about him. “He’s sleeping. His brain needed a chance to rest.”

“I can only imagine,” Julia said, shaking her head. She leaned to the side to better press herself against Kady. “Anxiety attacks always leave him tired afterward and this has just been one right after the other.”

That was a truth Eliot knew quite well. He nodded his head at it, allowing Margo to steer him to what had once been their favorite loveseat. They’d come a long way from the people they’d been back then. Yet they still slotted together perfectly when they sat down. Margo tucked herself under his arm, which he draped across the back of the couch, and then she was lighting two cigarettes for them while he grabbed an ashtray to set on the back of the couch by his arm.

Alice was in the chair nearest them, looking uncomfortable and unhappy, a look that she’d just recently started to lose. Standing in the space between her chair and the couch with the girls was Penny. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was glaring at them all like he was personally offended they were all here.

“So why don’t we start this with someone telling us what the fuck happened?” Margo suggested.

It was Kady who answered that. “We were all at the apartment having a meeting about some of our plans for the Hedges when the whole place just lit up. When the light died down, there was Q laying on the ground. Only he wasn’t… it didn’t look like he landed easily.”

“He was in a complete panic when we found him,” Julia said. “We tried to talk to him, but he curled up in this, this tiny little ball on the floor. We didn’t know what was going on till Penny made us all shut up.”

Penny grimaced and shifted his weight around a little. “It wasn’t really panic.” He said the words almost reluctantly. Whether that was because he was reluctant to chime in, or because he was reluctant to give away what he knew was anyone’s guess. The guy was usually pretty confidential about what he picked up from others, unlike their Penny who hadn’t had problems yelling loudly about someone’s shields or what he picked up if it annoyed him enough.

Julia twisted on the couch to look around Kady towards Penny. “What do you mean?”

“He didn’t have any shields up,” Penny explained slowly, still clearly reluctant. “I could hear his brain screaming at him, but like, it wasn’t words. Just… sensations. Bright, loud, hot, cold. That’s what I had you guys shut the curtains and shut up. He couldn’t process any of it.”

 _Ah_. That made more sense. Eliot nodded his head in understanding. It took a few of them staring at him for him to realize that the rest of them didn’t. Once he realized they didn’t, he quirked an eyebrow at them and tapped his ashes into the ashtray. He’d figured at least Julia or Alice would know about this, but the both of them looked just as confused as Kady and Penny. “It’s called sensory overload. He gets like that sometimes.” The way he said it was a very clear _duh_. With Eliot, there was almost always subtext to what he was saying.

However, it was no surprise that if Eliot knew, Margo did as well. She nodded and added in her own two cents worth. “Kind of figured it came with the whole anxious-depressed-super-nerd vibe he’s always had going on. When he’s down, he doesn’t feel anything. When he’s too high up, he feels _everything_.”

“That… actually makes a lot of sense,” Julia said slowly. She looked kind of surprised with herself. “I, we never really had a name for it. It was just one of those Q things, you know? When his anxiety got really bad he’d get sensitive to things. It was always too loud, too hot, too cold. It was usually best to get him to a quiet place to mellow out and come back down.”

“All that’s well and good, but it doesn’t tell us fuck-all about how to fix our newest clusterfuck,” Margo said, bringing them all back on topic.

“What can we do?” Kady asked. “I mean, it sounds like his head just needs some time to sort itself out.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Margo pointed out, voicing the one fear that Eliot couldn’t bring himself to say. “If we just wait around and nothing happens? I’m not going through the process of retraining him. We just got him housebroken.”

“I can check out a few books.” The offer from Alice had them all turning to look at her. She was sitting up straight, so prim and proper, and she didn’t back down from their collective stares. Not even when there were more than a few glares mixed in. She just angled her chin up a little more. “I know there’s no books for this – this whole thing is new territory. But maybe if we look on a smaller scale instead of a grand one, look into spells that help clear the mind and such, we might be able to find something that’ll give Q the strength to put himself back together.”

That sounded like a far better plan than just _waiting_. Eliot lifted his hand holding the cigarette and used it to point at her. “I second this plan.”

“I’ll do my best to see what I can find.” That said, Alice pushed to her feet, clearly ready to leave right that instant. And, even though a part of Eliot understood, there was a bigger chunk of him that wanted to snap at her. Just barely did he hold himself back.

Margo had no such compunctions. She wasn’t the type to forgive and forget, and in her books, Alice had quite a few things marked in the ‘fucked up’ column. That meant that Margo had no issues sneering up at her. “Seriously – just like that, you’re gonna bail? Q busted his ass over and over to save all of us, and you can’t even manage to stick around for a few days and try to help him here?”

Though she hid it well, Eliot caught the small flinch to Alice’s shoulders. “I can be more help at the Library, trying to find a way to help him get his memories back.”

Rolling her eyes and slumping back against Eliot, Margo snorted and waved a hand dismissively towards Alice. “Yeah, right. You go look at your _books_ , then. We’ll stay here and _actually_ take care of the nerd.”

It was tempting to get mad just like Margo. Once, Eliot wouldn’t have hesitated to add his own sharp, cutting words. They would’ve been fueled by equal parts jealousy and bitterness. Now? In his finer moments Eliot like to think that he’d finally started to grow up. It’d only taken failing to run a kingdom, living an entire lifetime in the past, almost dying a few times, getting possessed by a monster, and losing the love of his life for him to get to it.

Eliot looked at Alice and he remembered the lessons Arielle had taught him. How love didn’t have to be some one-dimensional thing. It didn’t have to fit into standards that someone else set for them. _“Loving two people doesn’t mean that you love one less than the other,”_ she’d told him once. _“It just means that your heart is big enough for two.”_

Just like Eliot would always love Margo, always need her in his life in some way or another, he’d loved Arielle. Sister-wives, they’d jokingly called one another once Eliot had explained the term to her. Their love hadn’t been sexual, but it’d been deep, and it hadn’t detracted from their love for Quentin. If anything, it’d made it deeper. Stronger.

Though Eliot would barely classify Alice as a _friend_ , he’d long since lost any grudge he felt toward her or Quentin for what was between them. He might not like their relationship, nor feel it was all that healthy, but he wasn’t going to deny them their feelings. For all that their relationship might be the definition of _dumpster fire_ , they cared about each other. How could he be angry at that?

They’d only talked about their feelings once since Quentin’s death. The night of the fire where they’d all let their grief run free. They hadn’t said much, but what they’d both felt had been acknowledged, and some kind of silent respect had been reached.

Reaching out a hand, Eliot laid it on Margo’s arm, drawing her back. He met Alice’s eyes and gave her a small nod. Gratitude flashed in her eyes before she nodded back at him.

“While she does that, the rest of us can stay here and do our own research,” Julia offered. She’d gotten pretty good at reading a room and helping to direct it sometimes. A pretty decent diplomat, if Eliot were honest.

Taking one last drag off his cigarette, Eliot stretched enough to stub it out in the ashtray. “Sounds like we’ve got a plan, then.” Not that it was much of one. But it was better than nothing.

They had Quentin back. It didn’t matter that he didn’t remember them. They could work with that. If necessary, Eliot was more than willing to build up a new set of memories to replace all the old ones. All that mattered was that Quentin was _here_. They could deal with the rest of it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one feels a little meh, and kind of like filler, but it also needs to be there to get us from one point to the next. So, hope it's still okay?

When Quentin finally woke once more, he almost didn’t want to get up. There was a world out there that was waiting for him, he knew. But the bed he was lying on was soft, and it smelled like a strange combination of things that seemed to spell out _home_ in the private corners of his heart. He didn’t know _why_ ; he just knew that it did. Whatever it was it had him burrowing in a little more into the blankets, catching some in a fist and drawing them up toward his face.

A chuckle came from somewhere in front of him. Though it should have, the sound didn’t make Quentin startle. He didn’t even bother opening his eyes. He just smiled and tucked the blanket closer to his face. “Isn’t it creepy to watch someone while they’re sleeping?”

“Oh, definitely,” Eliot agreed immediately. “Luckily for the both of us that’s not at all what I’m doing.”

Quentin’s smile grew a little. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmhm. You should be thanking me, Coldwater. I’m up here saving you the indignity of having Bambi be the one to wake you up.” There was a pause as Eliot clearly got closer. Then he chuckled. “Trust me. As much as I love her, you really don’t want her to be the one to fetch you from bed. I doubt even recovering from resurrection would make her go easy on you. You should be thanking me for saving you the embarrassment. Now, up you go! I’ve worked very hard to make breakfast and the least you can do is come down and appreciate it.”

It felt so easy to just lay there and laugh a little to himself. Sleep had done Quentin a lot of good. He could admit that already. His head felt less like it’d been beaten and tossed around a little bit. His skin had lost that too-tight-too-much feeling, too. Thank God for that. When he drew the blankets off himself and sat up, there wasn’t any residual pain or sensation of _wrongness_ to everything. So, one hell of an improvement in his books.

He blinked his eyes a few times to get them to clear. Then he tilted his head and looked up to where Eliot was waiting nearby. He was leaning against the wall near the head of the bed, arms crossed over his chest and a bit of a smile on his lips. Not a smirk like he’d worn around everyone else. Just, a smile. “Everything in working order?” he asked teasingly.

“So far so good.” Quentin cut himself off with a yawn that he quickly covered with his hand.

Eliot just chuckled at him. Pushing away from the wall, he uncrossed his arms enough to point in the direction of a door on the side of the room. “Bathroom’s through there. I put in a spare toothbrush and some clothes. Don’t take too long, though. Breakfast is pretty much ready and not a one of them are going to be civilized enough to actually wait for you. You don’t exactly look like you can afford to miss a meal right now.” His eyes raked over Quentin in a look that felt almost like a caress; the feel of it had him shivering.

“Oh, I uh… thanks. I’ll, um, be down in a bit?” Quentin managed to stammer out.

He held it together until Eliot was gone from the room and the door had shut behind him. Once Quentin was alone again, he huffed out a breath and buried his face in his hands. What the hell? Just… what the hell? He really needed to get himself together! Awake for thirty seconds and he was already getting flustered and embarrassing himself in front the one person here it looked like he was the closest with!

Eliot had said they were best friends, basically. That Quentin was one of two people he was really close to. That meant that they had to know one another really well. Maybe Quentin’s awkwardness was just a normal thing and Eliot was already used to it. Or maybe this was just something that came with new-amnesia-Quentin and everyone was going to think he was a freak and not want to deal with him…

Groaning, Quentin flopped backward on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “Fuck my life.”

* * *

It took almost fifteen minutes for Quentin to finally get up, brush his teeth, change into the jeans and shirt/over-shirt combo that had been left on the bathroom counter for him. It probably would’ve taken less time if he hadn’t gotten caught up in looking at his own reflection. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there and just stared at himself before he’d finally snapped out of it.

Yet when he finally made it downstairs it was to find that he hadn’t missed breakfast at all. All the people that he’d met yesterday, minus the Professor, were all in the kitchen/dining area, and they all looked like they were just starting to serve themselves from what appeared to be an entire buffet of food against the far wall.

Eliot was leaning against the open sliding glass door, a cigarette in one hand and his other rubbing almost absently at his hip. He caught Quentin’s eye and, when Quentin looked over the obviously just finished food and then back at him, the guy just grinned. So much for Quentin potentially missing out on breakfast if he didn’t hurry. As was already becoming a trend, Quentin found he should probably be annoyed at him for this, only instead all he could feel was fond amusement.

All at once everyone seemed to notice that Quentin had joined them. Julia and Kady, who had been arguing over some sort of muffins, turned to go sit at the table and caught sight of him. Julia’s happy “Q!” drew the eyes of Penny and Margo.

It didn’t escape Quentin’s notice that the girl, Alice, wasn’t anywhere in sight.

He summoned up a smile that he hoped wasn’t anywhere near as shaky as he felt. “H-Hey.”

“How’d you sleep?” Julia asked, coming right up toward him. She was smiling and looked honestly happy just to see him there. It backed up the whole ‘best friend’ thing that she’d mentioned. At the same time, she looked kind of hesitant, though. Like… like he was a kid. A fragile one.

Quentin tried not to find it patronizing.

There was something in him that seemed to warm at the sight of her, and that was the part that he focused on. Clearly some part of him remembered her – remembered all of them – even if the memories weren’t there. “Pretty good, actually. I, uh, I think I needed that.”

“Serious magic can take a lot out of you,” Kady said. While her tone didn’t have that worried edge to it that Julia’s did, nor the friendlier one like Eliot’s, there was an honest warmth there that he got the impression not many people got to see.

The moment was saved from getting awkward – the three of them just standing there staring at one another – by Margo coming up and looping her hand through Quentin’s arm. She didn’t hesitate to use that hold to start dragging him forward, either, right past the girls. “Enough chit-chat. I don’t know how the hell it’s possible, but I think you look even skinnier than you did when you died. And trust me, you were starting to look pretty worrisome back then, too.”

“I don’t feel that hungry?” Quentin tried to make that a statement, only it came out more like a question, and Margo shot him a clear _are you kidding me_ look that had him ducking his head down and shuffling along with her. “I mean, I could eat something. A little.”

Margo kept hold of him with one hand while she reached out to grab a plate with the other. “You’ll eat what I give you and like it, Coldwater. El and Josh didn’t bust their asses to make some breakfast for you just for you to get all whiny and picky.”

When she thrust the plate at him, the only thing Quentin could do was grab hold of it or let it drop and break. He scrambled to keep from accidentally doing that anyway. By the time he got it straight, she was already moving to one of the buffet trays and using a pair of tongs to grab one of the tiny circle egg-looking things that were in there. Two of them were put on his plate.

There didn’t really seem a point in protesting. Quentin let Margo lead him along, shoveling item after item on his plate. He just hoped that she actually knew the kinds of things he liked. Right at the moment, _he_ didn’t, so it seemed logical to trust in someone else.

Everyone ended up seated around the rather large table. Quentin found himself between Margo and Eliot, with Julia and Kady across from him, and Penny in one of the seats at the end, just a bit apart from everyone else.

It didn’t take that long once everyone was seated before someone spoke up and broke the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over them all.

“So, we talked while you were asleep,” Julia said. There was apology in her eyes, and she was watching him like she expected him to be bothered by that.

Quentin just shrugged at her. “I kinda figured you would.”

If Julia was surprised, she didn’t let it last. She just nodded at him and kept going. “We didn’t figure out how to fix your amnesia, but we’ve got a few ideas on how we might be able to gradually help you recover your memories. Not like, all at once, but over time.”

“We got a ton of books we’re gonna look through for any mind spells that might help you get your shit in order,” Margo chimed in, gesturing towards his head with her fork.

That sounded equally helpful and terrifying. “Are you sure we shouldn’t… I don’t know… like, wait a few days? What if it just sort of works itself out on its own?” Not that he really believed it would. He just, wasn’t too keen on the idea of anything that messed with his head, though he didn’t know why it bothered him so much.

Nor did he understand why he suddenly relaxed so much when Eliot laid a had on his shoulder. When he turned to look, he found Eliot watching him with compassion in his eyes. “We’re planning on doing both. We’re not just going to find a spell and immediately test it on you. We’ll research, gather a collection of things, and then see what might be best. To do that is going to take _time_. Long enough that it’s likely you’ll be showing signs of remembering if your brain actually starts to heal itself.”

Okay, that was logical. They’d be giving Quentin a few days to see just what might happen, but they weren’t going to waste those days just sitting around doing nothing. He could get behind that idea. If he were lucky, maybe he’d start remembering things all on his own and none of these brain spells would even be necessary. After all, he already had echoes of _feelings_ where these people were concerned. That had to mean that the memories that went with them would come along on their own soon, right?

Ducking his head, Quentin stared down at the food on his plate, unaware of the way the others all watched him, not knowing that each one of them was hoping for the same thing.

The subject wasn’t brought up again through the rest of breakfast. The others made small talk that Quentin happily distracted himself in. He had no idea what Hedge Witches were, or the Fillory that Margo talked about, but he found he liked listening to them telling him about everything. They were describing some of the things they’d done since his… death. Sort of just catching him up on all of it.

Hearing the amount of things they were telling him brought to mind a question that Quentin hadn’t gotten around to asking yet. “How long was I…?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say the word, so he settled for a flap of his hand, hoping they understood. When everyone went quiet, he dropped that hand back down and ducked his head a little. “Sorry. I, it’s just, the way you guys talk I get the feeling it’s um, it’s been a while.”

Julia was the one to answer him. A spasm of pain crossed her face. Yet she set her fork down and didn’t shy away from him as she said: “Five months.”

Five months? Quentin’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow.” More like _holy shit_. He’d been dead _five months_? No wonder everyone kept looking at him the way they were. Not only had they lost a friend, they’d mourned him, grieved, and probably started to move on. Now here he was back in their lives, opening all that up all over again, and to make it worse he didn’t remember a single one of them. That just, that had to _hurt_. Grimacing, Quentin forced himself to look back up at them all, taking in the whole table with a sweep of his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Margo asked him. “It doesn’t sound like you got the choice on when or how to come back.”

Eliot’s fingers brushed over the outside of Quentin’s arm. “She’s right. I mean, if you want to apologize for dying on us, I’m all for that. Plenty of apologies, and groveling. So much groveling. But that can wait till you actually _remember_ dying.”

“Thanks,” Quentin said, just a hint dry. “I appreciate that.”

He got a beaming grin out of Eliot in return. “You’re welcome.”

They all went a little quiet after that. Quentin caught the others looking at him now and again as if waiting for him to ask another question, or to disappear on them or something. But he wasn’t in the mood to say anything, and as far as he knew, he didn’t have the ability to disappear. Though he kind of wished he did. Not completely, just somewhere where there weren’t so many eyes on him. Instead, he had to suffer through sitting there while everyone tried to look at him without actually looking like they were doing it, and somehow managed to eat his breakfast while also processing all the information he’d just gained.

If he hadn’t wanted to get his memories back before, well, this definitely would’ve spurred it along. Quentin wasn’t going to do this for just him. These people deserved to have back the person they were all so clearly missing. They’d loved him, mourned him, and now they had a chance to have him back. How could Quentin not do everything in his power to help them get what they wanted?

Determination filled him. Even if he didn’t really remember much about magic, except for that it was real, he could read through books with them and try to find something that would match what they were all looking for. He could do that. And if a few days didn’t have his head putting itself to rights, then he’d let them use those spells on him. It was the least he could do.


	6. Chapter 6

Of course, reading up on mental spells was a whole lot easier said than done.

It wasn’t that there were no spells to look at, or even that there were too many of them. No, what Quentin was having a problem with was that he kept getting _distracted_.

They’d all gathered together in the living area of this cottage and were looking at books together. Julia and Kady were pouring over some books together, Eliot and Margo had a stack of books sitting between the two of them on the couch, and Penny seemed to have taken up a stance as far from everyone else as possible – yet clearly in sight of Quentin. The guy had a way of watching him that reminded Quentin that this was someone who could hear the thoughts in his head. Which, yeah, not exactly reassuring.

But Quentin could barely focus on any of that. He was too busy finding himself in awe of the books he was looking through. _Magic_ books! Spell after spell after spell of just, _amazing_ things. How on earth was he supposed to focus on finding one type when he sort of wanted to just read his way through every book and devour everything in them?

Quentin didn’t even think anything of it as he began to move while he read. He missed the fond look that crossed Eliot’s face, the way that Julia smiled at him, or the curious looks the others were giving him. Book in hand, he began to pace his way through the room, weaving this way and that. Every now and again he’d stop somewhere when a particularly interesting section caught his full attention. But soon enough he’d start pacing or rocking on his feet once more, one hand at his side twitching like he wanted to try out all the gestures he was reading about.

He didn’t notice when a chair was moved magically out of his way while he paced.

“Seriously?” Penny asked, startling Quentin out of his thoughts. He looked up to find Penny watching Eliot and Margo with an amused look on his face.

Margo raised an eyebrow at him. The way she tipped her head up, that imperious look on her face, it was easy for Quentin to see the ‘High King’ bit that they’d mentioned yesterday. “What can I say, we’re well versed in nerd-wrangling.”

“He doesn’t even…”

“Nope,” Eliot said, cutting him off and grinning.

Quentin looked back and forth between them. He felt like he was missing something there, only he wasn’t quite sure what it was. He debated asking about it before giving in and shaking his head. If they wanted him to know they’d tell him. His eyes dropped back down to the book in his hand and he went back to reading, ignoring the light laughter from the others around him.

It was Julia who broke through his study-haze the next time. She caught hold of his arm when he was making one of his loops around the room. Quentin hadn’t realized just how close to her it had brought him. When she took hold of his arm, he jerked to a stop, surprised.

Julia smiled kindly up at him. “Why don’t we take a quick break for lunch, Q? We’ve been at this for a while.”

Had they? He hadn’t noticed. “Oh. I uh, I’m not really that hungry?” Food was the last thing on Quentin’s mind. Though a quick look around showed that the rest of the room probably didn’t agree with that idea. Margo was eyeing the rest of him in a way that left Quentin feeling like he was being sized up to be sold at market. Not that there’d be much of him to sell, which was probably half the problem here. He’d noticed while getting dressed that his body was leaning a bit toward the _thin_ side. Judging by everyone else’s concern that wasn’t exactly _normal_ for him.

“Q…” Julia gave him a soft smile, one that clearly said that she cared, and she laid a hand on his arm. “You have this tendency to get a bit caught up in things. Trust me, a break will do you good.”

Quentin knew that she likely had the best of intentions here. And maybe if he’d been himself he would’ve smiled at her and agreed. But as it was, he found himself mostly feeling _annoyed_. From the proprietary hand on his arm, to the way she talked to him like he was some small child who didn’t know how to take care of himself. Like he needed someone here to take care of him. _You have this tendency to get a bit caught up in things._

Just as quickly as his annoyance hit, Quentin pushed it down. _Don’t be an ass._ This was a stupid thing to get upset about. Someone wanting to try and take care of him? Oh, no, that was just _terrible_.

Quentin ignored the sarcasm inside his own mind. On the outside, he gave Julia a small smile. “Yeah, sure, a break sounds great.” He didn’t give her time to say or do anything, though. He just closed his book and gave them all a quick “Be right back!” before he was out of the room.

There weren’t exactly many places that Quentin could go around here. He’d only been in a few rooms so far. The rest were still a mystery. He knew he didn’t want to go back upstairs; not to what he was guessing wasn’t _his_ room but _Eliot’s_ , and he’d already infringed on that man enough. That left Quentin heading to the dining room he’d been in before.

Once he was in there, he caught sight of something over near the open patio door, and while he’d just gotten through thinking how he wouldn’t infringe on Eliot any further, the guy wouldn’t begrudge him a cigarette, right? Having one yesterday had helped a lot with the anxiety Quentin had been feeling. Maybe having one now would do the same.

Three drags in and Quentin was feeling a whole lot more relaxed than he had been. He sat on one of the patio chairs, legs curled up in the chair and crossed, the book sitting on his lap so that he could lazily page through it. It felt pretty safe to assume that he was a smoker, or had been at some point, because his body seemed to have certain muscle memory when it came to the act. Not to mention how quickly it started to relax him.

Quentin was careful not to get any ash on the book he held, though. He hadn’t found any mental spells in here so far. What he had found, though, were some fascinating transformation spells that looked like they’d be a lot of fun to play with.

He was so caught up in them he didn’t hear anyone joining him. Not until Eliot’s amused voice broke into his thoughts. “You always were the worst cigarette thief.”

Surprise had Quentin jumping. He almost burned himself, only to scramble and catch the cigarette last second. When he looked up he found Eliot was grinning proudly at him like an _asshole_. A reluctant smile tugged at Quentin’s lips. “Yeah?”

That was all the invitation Eliot seemed to need. He came over and took a chair of his own across the table from Quentin. The three books he’d been carrying were set down on the table top, freeing Eliot’s hands up so he could grab and light a cigarette of his own. “Oh yeah. Early on you never really smoked unless you were drinking, and then anyone’s left out pack was open game. But when we lived in Fillory, you picked up the habit of smoking their local stuff. Much healthier, without the risk of the whole _cancer_ thing, and a nice relaxing buzz that at least didn’t impair your judgment. You used it to medicate.”

“Medicate?”

Eliot lifted one hand and tapped at his own temple. “Like we told you – you and your brain don’t always get along. You described it as _breaking._ That your brain just, broke every now and again. The Fillorian tobacco helped. Though, honestly, it was kinda more like pot than cigarettes if you think about it. Or a surprisingly healthy mixture of the two.”

For a moment it looked like Eliot had gotten a little caught up in his memories. It was kind of curious to see. Something about it made him look both younger and older all at the same time. Like he had the weight of so many memories there, and yet, like they made him _happy_. The whole thing was like a strange dichotomy that Quentin found fascinating.

“You’re kinda open about all this,” Quentin pointed out.

Eliot shrugged lazily. He stretched his long legs out, crossing them at the ankle, and slouched in his chair a little. “It’s your life.”

“I guess I figured… I don’t know. I thought at first everyone would be like, rushing to tell me things to try and get me to remember, but no one’s really talked about it so far. So I thought maybe, maybe you guys were just waiting for me to remember on my own.”

“This is all new territory for us, sweetheart. None of us are quite sure how to handle it,” Eliot said. The endearment left Quentin flushing and ducking his head down. He heard a chuckle as he did, and then Eliot’s voice, low and pleased, “Though it’s nice to see some things never change.”

Despite himself, a small smile curved Quentin’s lips. He snuck a look up and found that Eliot was grinning at him from behind his cigarette. Seeing it only made Quentin’s own smile grow. He reacted without thinking, like his body was following some sort of instinct, and kicked out at Eliot lazily. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Eliot fired back easily.

Quentin’s flush deepened.

Their conversation was cut off by footsteps making their way towards them. The two looked up in time to see Penny reach the open door. He took one look at them and scowled. When Quentin opened his mouth, Penny held up a hand to silence him. “I don’t wanna know. Trust me, I’ve already heard more than enough. I was just sent to see if you two plan on coming back inside anytime soon, or if you’re gonna hide out here while the rest of us do all the work.”

There was a sharp edge to Penny’s tone that Quentin kind of wanted to flinch under. It hadn’t been there the last time they’d talked, and it felt off-putting to hear it now. At the same time, he got the feeling the guy wasn’t as angry as he seemed to be.

It sure didn’t seem to bother Eliot. “Got sent out here, or volunteered?” A smirk curved his lips, and once more Quentin could see that sharper edge that Eliot seemed to take with the others. The one that made most of his words sound mocking and kind of double-edged. “I mean, not that I blame you. I wouldn’t want to sit around and watch that, either.”

“Voice of experience there?” Penny snapped at him.

Whatever he was saying, the words struck home, making Eliot flinch just the slightest bit around his eyes. Almost instantly his expression cooled into a mask that hid everything. Quentin watched it happen and found himself wanting to reach out and say or do something to smooth it away once more. “Touché,” Eliot said, tipping his hand in a lazy sort of salute. Then he was rising from his chair in one fluid motion. His cigarette was stubbed out, and then he was straightening his shirt and vest. “Well! I’ll see you lovely gentlemen back inside. My crowd awaits.”

Quentin watched him go. Then he turned toward Penny and raised his eyebrows. “I get the feeling I just missed a whole lot right there.”

“Yeah, that’s not anything new,” Penny said, voice dry. His words lacked the edge they’d had when he was speaking to Eliot, though, and he was crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe instead of leaving. He looked almost… gentler. There was a hint of the softness that Quentin had seen there yesterday when he’d woken up in this strange place surrounded by people he didn’t know and a world that felt like it was attacking him. “You look like you’re doing better,” Penny said.

 _Better_. That was kind of a subjective word. “As opposed to curling up in a little ball and panicking?”

The other man snorted at him. “You’re snarkier like this.”

Quentin paused. “Am I… not supposed to be?” Maybe he was doing something wrong talking to them like this. It was just… Eliot hadn’t seemed to mind it. But maybe that was just the way the two of them talked? Maybe Quentin wasn’t like that with anyone else. Or maybe it was some societal rule that he knew once and couldn’t remember bow. Though how the hell did he know the phrase _societal rule_ yet couldn’t remember what any of them _were_?

“Chill, dude.” Penny’s voice cut off the downward spiral of Quentin’s thoughts. He snapped back to himself and looked up to find Penny watching him. That same soft look was on his face; stronger this time, though. “Your brain obviously remembers some things. Otherwise you wouldn’t be able to even speak. The rest of it, it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to make yourself into the person you think we want. Just be you.”

“I don’t know who _me_ is.”

“You don’t need us telling you that. I mean, sure, we could sit here and tell you that the guy we knew wasn’t sarcastic, or that he didn’t do this, or did do this, but that doesn’t mean it’d matter to you. Not yet. Those kinds of things are stuff we all learn from shit that happens in our lives. Sure, the guy we knew didn’t snark at us like this, but maybe it happened inside his head. Maybe he didn’t say it cause some asshole in the past taught him that it wasn’t okay.”

“And since I don’t have the memory of that, I don’t have the, the _filter_ for it, either,” Quentin said slowly.

Penny nodded at him. “Makes as much sense as anything else.”

It did. It also had the effect of making Quentin feel a little better. At the same time, it was a bit worrisome, too. “What if I start to do something that’s like, really rude, only I don’t know that it’s rude and I hurt someone…”

“Then I’ll let you know,” Penny interjected. Then he rolled his eyes and pushed off the doorframe. “Now can we quit with the sulk-fest and get back to work? If we’re lucky we’ll actually find something and this whole conversation is gonna be pointless.”

Quentin found himself smiling up at the other man. “Yeah.”

When Quentin got up, Penny waited for him, letting Quentin get inside before shutting the door behind him and gesturing him back towards where everyone else was. The guy might be a bit gruff, and he definitely had that whole sarcastic-kind-of-asshole vibe going, but he really wasn’t all that bad. Quentin was glad that he’d had friends like this in his life. He just hoped he’d been smart enough to appreciate it.

A groan from behind him reminded Quentin that the guy could read his thoughts.

When Penny shoved him forward and growled out “Shut up, dumbass,” the only thing Quentin could do was laugh.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has been taking me a while :( Thanks for sticking around!

Watching Quentin work his way through the majority of the Physical Kids library was at once both heartbreaking and endearing. Eliot knew he probably didn’t get as much reading done as he should have. But it wasn’t like studying had ever really been his _thing_. Besides, watching Quentin was much more interesting. And painful. Very, very painful.

The others here had no way of knowing, but the Quentin that moved through them, the one that talked and laughed and debated points of their books – this wasn’t _their_ Quentin. Oh, sure, he wasn’t any of theirs right now considering the whole amnesia thing. But he wasn’t _behaving_ like their Quentin. No, he was behaving like the _other_ Quentin. _Eliot’s_ Quentin. The one that had worked the mosaic with him. The one who had slowly but surely lost some of his shyness and some of that need-to-please that had him putting everyone else’s thoughts and feelings before his own.

Eliot and Arielle had worked hard to get Quentin past those. By the time they lost Arielle, while Teddy was still young, Quentin had come a long, long way from where he’d been. He’d learned to speak his mind more. To say what he felt. He’d learned it was _okay_ to be mad at them for something. That him getting mad wasn’t going to be taken away from him and then used as a club to beat him for the next ten years. They’d taught him that his feelings were _valid_.

A grimace crossed Eliot’s features. _And then we came back, and I stomped on every single bit of that_.

That, almost more than anything else, was one of Eliot’s biggest regrets. Not just that he’d walked away from a wonderful, amazing man who had loved him, and who he loved, but that he’d broken a part of Quentin when he did it. That he’d done the one thing he’d promised never to do again after their first big fight – he’d taken what Quentin felt and invalidated it. Told him that it wasn’t real and that he didn’t know what he was feeling.

The last time Eliot had done something like that, Quentin had just started feeling secure enough to actually snap at him instead of ignore it. They’d been with Arielle for a few years by then, Teddy was already almost two, and Eliot couldn’t even remember how they’d gotten into an argument on Quentin’s sexuality. He didn’t remember what started it, but he remembered vividly what _ended_ it.

_“Don’t do that!”_

_Quentin’s voice was a sharp whip-crack echoing through the room. He looked pissed; a lot more pissed than Eliot could ever remember seeing him be. At the same time, his arms were crossed tightly over his chest and he was drawing himself back in a hold that he hadn’t used in years. One that made it clear just how upset he really was._

_“You don’t get to do that,” Quentin said, pulling himself back a little more. His eyes, though – his eyes were bright and fierce, that small light in his eyes that Arielle and Eliot had worked so hard to put there. To_ keep _there. “You don’t get to, to make what I feel stupid or small just because you don’t agree with it. You_ don’t _.”_

_“Q, I wasn’t…”_

_Quentin didn’t let him finish. “You were. You are. You… you always do. You act like you know what I feel better than I do, and you don’t, you don’t_ listen _. I’m telling you_ I love you _, and you’re too busy telling us both that I can’t, that I don’t, and I just… You don’t have some magical dick, all right, Eliot? I didn’t take one look at you and decide that I was suddenly confused about my sexuality. I knew about myself long before you came around. My first partner identified as nonbinary. And yeah, they had a dick, and I enjoyed it. Just like I enjoy yours.”_

_The more Quentin spoke, the faster his voice went, words tripping over themselves to try and get past his tongue, almost oblivious to the effect he was having on the other man._

_“I’m, I’m_ allowed _to be bisexual or pansexual or whatever term you wanna use, I don’t care. But that’s_ me _and you, you don’t get to tell me it’s not. You don’t get to tell me who I can be attracted to, or who I can love. I… I can’t make you love me back, and if you don’t, that’s, well, it’s not_ fine _but I’ll get over it…”_

_And that was the last straw for Eliot. That was the final thing that broke through his stupor. Because Quentin believing that Eliot didn’t love him? No. No way. That was unacceptable. The both of them had come way too far in their relationship for that. They’d worked past a lot of their pain and their insecurities to get there, though apparently they’d missed a few._

_It only took three steps for Eliot to close the distance between them. Three steps and then he was pulling Quentin into his arms and wrapping him up tight. Quentin didn’t resist, melting down into Eliot the same way he always did._

_“I’m sorry.” The words were a soft whisper against Quentin’s hair. It was always easier for Eliot like this. Easier to say the words to the top of Quentin’s head that always seemed to dry up in his throat when he’d look him in the face. “Q, baby. I’m sorry.”_

_He felt Quentin sigh heavily. Then his arms were around Eliot’s waist, holding on, sinking into him even more. “I love you, you asshole,” Quentin murmured against his chest. “But you’ve seriously got to be the worst ally ever.”_

_The words drew a surprised chuckle from Eliot that was just a bit too wet for his tastes. “Yeah. I should probably work on that.” Then Eliot pressed a kiss against Quentin’s hair, and he dropped the teasing for a moment. “You’re right, though. I don’t… I know better. I know what it’s like to have someone tell me what I’m feeling isn’t really, and I had no right to make you feel that way.”_

That hadn’t been the end of it, of course. They’d talked after that. God, they’d done so much talking in that other timeline. Arielle had insisted on it. She’d been a Godsend, that woman. She’d taken two broken, needy, insecure men and helped shape them into something better. Something _good_. When she’d died, it’d cut a hole in their lives, but they’d been able to take what they’d become and build off it. Stay strong – _together_.

And then they’d come back here and neither one of them had had time to adjust. They’d gotten slammed with those memories, those emotions, and before either one of them could make heads or tails of it, Eliot had pushed Quentin away. He’d stomped on what he felt and then he’d run, because that’s what he did. That was how Eliot reacted to fear – and _oh_ , he’d been fucking terrified. Terrified that those memories were wrong, that if they tried again they might fail, while equally terrified that they were _right_ , and how the fuck was he supposed to live up to that?

Realizing what an asshole he’d been had hurt. Eliot had come out of his possession ready to fight for the one thing he’d realized was more important than anything else. Only, when he’d gotten out, he’d found out that it was already too late and the Quentin he’d loved was gone. He’d died thinking that Eliot didn’t love him. That Eliot didn’t care enough to fight for him.

The grief Eliot had felt was all encompassing. It’d taken him months just to get to the point where he felt like he could function like a normal human being again. Hiding out in Fillory had helped, strangely enough, once Fen had reversed Margo’s banishment. Whether it was the opium in the air, or having Margo and Fen there with him, or just being some place that he could go to his room and not be surrounded by memories. Little by little, piece by piece, Eliot had started to put himself back together.

And then Penny had come.

Eliot shook his head, trying to brush off those past memories and bring his focus back to what had started this trip down memory lane.

They’d been going at their search for most of the day now, and Quentin was clearly getting tired. It was equally clear that he was getting _frustrated,_ too. That was the face of a Quentin who had just finished yet another mosaic and was trying to psych himself up to start the next one, while secretly wanting nothing more than to break a few tiles. It always made his temper a bit shorter, and his words a bit sharper.

Surprisingly, it seemed to be Julia of all people who was getting the edge of Quentin’s temper now. Eliot hadn’t expected that.

Eliot honestly wasn’t the biggest fan of Julia. He knew that Quentin loved her, that he’d forgiven her for the things she’d done just as he said she’d forgiven him for the things _he’d_ done. But that didn’t take away from Eliot’s anger. He’d seen the aftereffects of the problems between those two. He’d helped pick up the pieces a time or two, especially after that magical inception. It’d taken weeks for Quentin to be able to sleep through the night again without panicking. Eliot had found him downstairs countless times, and he’d been the one to get Quentin drunk enough to finally be able to sleep again.

But even with all of that, Eliot knew that Quentin loved her, so to see him snap at her when she checked on him was surprising.

It went downhill from there.

“I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay,” Julia tried saying, her voice full of concern.

Concern that only seemed to piss Quentin off even more. His hands clenched on his book, and there was an edge to his words, one that Eliot knew from personal experience meant that he was fighting not to snap. “I’m _fine_.”

“Q… I know you don’t remember me, but you and I, we’ve been best friends for a long time. I know what you look like when you’re fine, and this? This isn’t it.”

That had Eliot wincing. _Oh this isn’t going to end well._ He shifted in his seat, rolling his head enough to be able to better watch. He’d laid down a while ago and put his head in Margo’s lap. She was stroking her fingers through his hair now while she watched the show, just the same as he was.

Quentin closed his eyes. He visibly drew in a breath and then let it back out. “You’re right,” he said finally. Opening his eyes, he tilted his face so that he could look up at Julia from where he was perched in the window seat. “You’re right, I don’t remember you. I appreciate that you’re trying to help, though. But I already told you I’m fine. I told you when you asked me an hour ago, and the hour before that, and the hour before that.”

“I just…”

“Wanted to make sure I was fine,” Quentin finished for her, sounding so tired and on the edge of annoyed. He lifted a free hand ad rubbed it over his face. “Yeah. I got it. What I don’t get is why you feel the need to keep doing it. I thought maybe it was because I’d been dead or whatever, and I mean, I’d get it if that were it, but it isn’t, is it?”

He looked up at Julia at that last part. The whole room was quiet. All of them were watching, waiting to see what would happen. Staring like this was some terrible car wreck that they couldn’t look away from.

Julia blew out a slightly shaky breath. “I always took care of you,” she said abruptly. “It was a part of our friendship. Our thing. But at the end, before you… I didn’t take care of you. Not like I was supposed to. And you died. You, you did something stupid and you _died_.”

Some of the temper drained off Quentin’s face. He looked softer, in that puppy-like way of his that was weirdly endearing. “I don’t know what happened, or what I did. But, Julia… I doubt it was your fault. The last I checked I’m an adult. It’s not anyone’s job to _take care_ of me. Whatever mistakes I made are mine. Being overprotective now isn’t going to change anything I did. It…” He paused, clearly gathering together a bit of courage. “It honestly feels a bit patronizing. Like you see me more like some kid than your friend. And, okay, maybe I’ve needed that in the past. I don’t know. But I don’t, can you just… I just need you to relax. A little. Please?”

His words seemed to have taken all the wind out of Julia’s sails. She was paler than before, and there was a tightness around her eyes that said Quentin’s words had hit home, hard. “I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t we all take a break?” Kady suggested abruptly. She had her arm around Julia’s waist, and her expression was tense, clearly unhappy. Somehow she kept it under control. “I mean, we’ve already got a few suggested spells written down to help memory recovery. Why don’t we take the rest of the afternoon off and give Quentin’s brain a chance to rest and do its own thing before we go deciding if we want to try these?”

“I second that vote,” Eliot said, lifting a hand.

He was followed almost immediately by Quentin and Margo both raising their hands and calling out “Me too.”

In short order, the library emptied out, Kady dragging Julia off somewhere to talk to her, and Penny vanishing to do who-knew-what. That left Eliot still lying with his head in Margo’s lap, and Quentin slumped down in his chair, rubbing at his face.

That, too, was something Eliot was familiar with. It was an expression Quentin often got when he’d been staring at the mosaic for too long or squinting down at the paper they recorded everything on. Though in the end it’d been Eliot who had been forced into getting glasses, it was Quentin who’d suffered from stress headaches when he focused too long or too hard on something.

A little bit of telekinesis worked to catch hold of the front of Quentin’s shirt and give it a tug. When Quentin looked up in surprise, Eliot smirked at him. “Come here.”

“You couldn’t just ask like a normal person?” Quentin asked. He got up, though, and started to make his way toward them.

Above Eliot, Margo let out a small snort. “Normal doesn’t exactly describe any of us, Coldwater.”

When Quentin got close, Eliot reached up to catch his hand, using both that and another little tug on his shirt to get Quentin to sink down to the ground. Margo was already tossing a pillow down for him to sit on. Quentin looked at it like he couldn’t quite decide if he was amused, or if he wanted to roll his eyes. In the end he let himself be tugged down to sit on it, putting his head about chest level for Eliot. Just the right spot for Eliot to curl his arm and bury his fingers in Quentin’s hair. His fingers fell into those old _scratch-rub-tug_ motions that he’d once learned how to do to smooth the stress right out of Quentin.

It worked just as well now, too. Within seconds Quentin was letting out a low groan and slumping down in place. “You have about a hundred years to stop doing that.”

“Shh,” Eliot murmured, letting his own eyes drift closed while Margo continued to play with _his_ hair. “Nap time now. Talking time later.”

That got him another snort from Margo, and a chuckle from Quentin, but quiet also fell over the room. Eliot lay there and just let himself enjoy the blending of his lifetimes together. The familiarity of soothing away Quentin’s headaches from their time at the mosaic, and the many times that he, Quentin, and Margo had sat like this during their time at Brakebills, the three of them hanging out on nights where one or all of them had nightmares and couldn’t sleep. Or on quiet, lazy weekends when no one was at the Cottage and they were free to drop their acts and just _be_ for a while.

For two notorious parties who had only ever really opened up around each other, Quentin had been a breath of fresh air. He hadn’t expected anything out of them. Whatever they gave, he took at face value, and he cared about them because of or despite those things. They could be loud and obnoxious, sly and petty, sharp and mean, or quiet and thoughtful, secretly smart and deep, and he never flinched.

Eliot drifted off into that nice place between awake and a sleep with a soft, content smile on his lips.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long, guys. I know some of where I'm going now, though, so yay!

Their nap didn’t last too long. The rumble of Quentin’s stomach broke through the silence and reminded them all that their attempts to get him to stop for lunch earlier had ended up with him going outside to smoke. Not actually going to get any _food_. Once Margo was reminded of that, she was ushering them up, grumbling at Quentin the entire way about how he was an _“absolute moron, Q, I swear to God”_ and “ _if you think I’m going to let you starve to death, you’ve got another thing coming_.”

Honestly, it was a bit hilarious to watch her mother Quentin with her own particular brand of aggressive caring. Very few people got treated to that side of Margo. There weren’t many she let in close enough for that. It was also a testament to the type of person that Quentin was in that, even without his memories of Margo, he didn’t seem offended by her attitude; if anything, he gave her a soft, sweet smile, like her threatening him into eating the food that she and Eliot prepared was the nicest gift anyone had given him.

They made just enough for the three of them, and then Margo was pushing them all upstairs and into Eliot’s room. His was the biggest, and it was also the one with a TV. One that Eliot turned on while Margo bullied Quentin into getting in the middle of the bed.

It wasn’t an accident that they ended up with Quentin squished down between them in bed. Even before their life with Arielle, Eliot had known just how much Quentin liked the pressure of being in the middle. He liked the weight of bodies on either side of him. The comfort and security that came from having them right up against him, almost as a barrier between Quentin and the rest of the world. They’d discovered that during late night movie sessions, or just plain hanging out around the Cottage back when Quentin had first come to Brakebills.

That was why neither Eliot nor Margo was all that surprised when Quentin fell asleep not even halfway through the movie.

He’d slid down a little in the bed, no longer quite as awkward as he’d been. Not having his memories of them had made Quentin almost as awkward about the forced cuddling as he’d been when they’d first started hanging out. Now? Now, he was twisted toward Eliot, head resting against his shoulder, hands holding lightly to Eliot’s shirt where they’d been discreetly stimming for a while. Eliot’s arm was up so it was around both Quentin and Margo, and Margo had curled herself against Quentin’s back like a deadly wall between him and whatever might try to come in the room.

Eliot felt it as Margo got a little closer, one of her arms coming around Quentin’s waist to hold there, her fingers brushing against Eliot’s slacks as she did. When he looked down, he found her staring at Quentin’s hair, a depth of worry on her face that wasn’t typically allowed to show. “He’s too fucking skinny.”

“We’ll fix that.” It wouldn’t be the first time Eliot had coaxed Quentin back toward food after an episode. Granted, this time wasn’t quite an episode so much as _dying_ after a long depressive spiral that had sucked most of the life out of him. But. The theory was probably close enough to the same. Eliot could take care of him. He’d excelled at it in their other life. _Reveled_ in it, really. Having someone trust him so much that they allowed _him_ – the perpetual fuck-up, the brainless party-boy, the constantly intoxicated slut – to care for them. Eliot had always felt more than a bit awed by that.

A pained look briefly crossed Margo’s face. In some ways, she’d taken the news of Quentin’s death almost as hard as Eliot. She hadn’t been _in love_ with Quentin. She had loved him, though, in her own way. Kind of like an annoying little brother who drove her insane with the urge to rip out her hair sometimes, and yet she’d kill someone for daring to look at him funny.

Eliot knew she felt guilty. All of them did. But Margo internalized that guilt; turned it to an anger she could use on other things. After learning what had happened to Quentin, she’d blamed herself for not noticing the signs, and she’d been furious with everyone else for not seeing it, either. Nor had she forgiven them, or herself.

It’d taken getting Margo spectacularly drunk to get that out of her. To get her to admit just how broken up she really was, and how fucking guilty she felt that she hadn’t been there to help. That she hadn’t known – hadn’t _seen_.

Twisting his hand, Eliot curled his fingers through her hair, a silent touch that said the words they didn’t often use. It wasn’t much. But it, and the warm body between them were enough.

* * *

Day two went much the same as the first. A big breakfast, a morning spent researching, and then an afternoon of forced relaxation that mostly involved movies, only this time they set it up in the TV room downstairs so everyone could join. Julia insisted that they watch Star Wars, just for Quentin, and no one had the heart to protest it.

Which was how Eliot ended up sitting next to an over-excited, practically vibrating super-nerd who had yet to take his eyes off the TV since the movie started. Quentin was sucked in right from the get-go, watching them with a kind of joy that made Eliot have to hide a smile behind his drink.  More than just relaxing Quentin, watching the movies also worked to relax Eliot and Margo. They were the ones watching Quentin, so they were the ones that saw as he started to unconsciously mouth some of the words along with the characters. As if some part of him actually still remembered this even if it wasn’t a _conscious_ part.

While this definitely wasn’t Eliot’s type of movie, he was more than willing to indulge in a little Quentin watching. Seeing him this happy was always a pleasure.

The only time he willingly broke away was when it came time to eat something. Dinner was rolling up on them. Eliot had gotten more conscious of regular eating times; after the Monster, when he’d been healing, a lot of his troubles hadn’t been just the wound in his stomach. He’d had to deal with weight loss, not to mention the leftover feeling of withdrawal from the party-tour the Monster had taken him on. With Margo’s help, healing from all that had involved a lot of eating on a regular schedule, even when he hadn’t wanted to.

Eliot was back up to weight now, which meant he didn’t have to be so strict about things, but Quentin wasn’t.

When Eliot went to extract himself from their cuddle pile, murmuring a low “I’ll be back” he was met with a quick, concerned look from Quentin. Smiling, Eliot brushed a bit of hair behind Quentin’s ear. “Just going to throw some dinner together, that’s all. Won’t take but a minute.”

To Eliot’s surprise, that didn’t seem to soothe Quentin down any. His eyes darted quickly around at everyone else, then back to Eliot, and then down at his lap. The way he drew himself in, the slight tightness to his nod, was clue enough that he didn’t like this plan. It was only further cemented when Eliot looked up and caught Penny’s eye across the room. The guy looked down at Quentin and then darted his eyes toward the kitchen.

Eliot had no idea when Penny23 had decided to become Quentin’s biggest advocate, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to protest the extra help.

“You wanna come help?” Eliot asked, leaning in again, still trying to keep his voice low even though he knew pretty much everyone was aware of their conversation by now.

Judging by the way that Quentin looked around again, and how quickly he nodded, it hadn’t escaped his notice either.

The tension in Quentin’s shoulders relaxed when they made it inside the kitchen away from everyone’s eyes. Seeing how tense the others made him, yet how relaxed he was around _Eliot_ , probably shouldn’t have made Eliot feel as good as it did. Then again, he’d never claimed to be a paragon of mental health. Or selflessness.

“Sorry,” Quentin apologized, because apparently not even amnesia could make him lose that part of himself that always seemed to feel the need to apologize. “I just, ah, it was getting a… a bit much.”

Eliot gave an agreeable hum as he went to look through the refrigerator. Sometimes he’d found it was easier to give Quentin the space to speak instead of trying to fill in all the gaps of his awkward stammering and stuttering. Too many people had spent Quentin’s life trying to speak for him, or over him, helping him finishes sentences, thoughts, feelings, and accepting what they filled in as truth instead of listening to what _he_ wanted to say.

There was a soft shuffle of movement and a low muted thud. When Eliot snuck a look up, he had to smother a grin. Quentin had hopped up to sit on the empty space of counter.

The quiet lasted a little longer while Eliot pulled out the salmon that he’d had the others get for him. A few herbs, some fennel, an orange, and a lemon, and oooh, yes, he could definitely work with this.

He was halfway through preparing the sauce, humming lightly to himself as he did, when Quentin finally spoke up again. “What happens if none of this works? If I don’t…if I don’t remember anything?”

The question hit Eliot like a blow. He was grateful that he had his back to Quentin; it made it easier to close his eyes and draw in a slightly shaky breath. Only when Eliot was sure his voice would stay calm did he answer. “Then we’ll make new memories with you.”

Quentin shuffled around a little in his seat. Then he gave a soft, low snort. “I don’t think the others would agree.”

“They love you, Q.” Those words that had once been so hard to say now came easily to Eliot’s lips. He’d seen what it was like in a world where he’d never get the chance to say them. Not to Quentin’s face, at least. That was a world he didn’t want to live in again. Turning, Eliot looked right at Quentin, and maybe it didn’t mean the same to him right now, but dammit, it felt amazing to be able to look into his eyes as he told him “ _I_ love you. We’ll deal with whatever happens.”

 A light blush colored Quentin’s cheeks. He dropped his gaze down, ducking his head a little as he did, yet none of it stopped the pleased little smile he wore. Not right away, at least. It faded after a second. The pleasure that he’d clearly gotten disappeared under the weight of his worry once more. “You guys, you all look at me, and you… you see all this, this history. And a part of me, um, it uh, remembers that, I think. In here.” Lifting a hand, he tapped two fingers against his heart. “I, you guys make me feel things, all of you. It’s like the, the emotions are there, even the muscle memory, but there’s just, there’s no _actual_ memory attached to it. Does that make any sense?”

It did, in a painful sort of way. “Yeah.”

“And I just, I want to remember you guys, I do, but I keep trying, and nothing happens. I still can’t remember anything about you guys, and it’s like this, this big empty space in my head that I can’t…I can’t…”

If the panic building in Quentin’s voice wasn’t enough to get Eliot moving, the tremor clearly visible in his hands was. In an instant, the bowl Eliot held was on the counter, and Eliot had closed the distance between him and Quentin. One hand came up to find that familiar curve along the side of Quentin’s neck. Eliot cradled the side of Quentin’s head, letting his thumb stroke gently over his cheek. When Quentin shivered, jerking a little in his hold, Eliot firmed his touch. Not a gentle stroke anymore, but a steady pressure at the hinge of Quentin’s jaw and around, fingertips pressing into his skull. Seeing him relax into it, Eliot smiled at him. “That’s it. Deep breaths, sweetheart.”

Nimble fingers caught the bottom edge of Eliot’s vest. Quentin watched himself as he began to rub lightly at the lightly-textured material. “Why doesn’t that feel patronizing when you do it?”

Eliot didn’t even bother trying to squash the pleasure that curled through him at that. “Because I’m amazing.”

Some of the shadows on Quentin’s face gave way as he looked up and grinned. Eliot stared at him, struck all over again by this gorgeous man in front of him, and trying to remind himself why he couldn’t just lean in a little and catch that soft, sweet mouth with his…

“Oh!”

The soft exclamation startled both men. Though Eliot didn’t let go of Quentin, both of them turned to look sideways. What they found was almost enough to have Eliot feeling guilty. _Almost_.

Alice Quinn was standing there near the door, one hand holding it open while the other held a stack of books against her chest. She was dressed in one of those fancy, old-fashioned Librarian suits, with her hair done up to match, and really, it was a good look for her. Eliot could understand what some people saw in her from a purely aesthetic viewpoint.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said. Her eyes moved to where Eliot was still holding Quentin’s neck. Maybe Eliot should’ve pulled his hand away; after all, this was technically Quentin’s girlfriend. But Eliot never claimed to be nice. Or fair. He hadn’t fought for Quentin once before. That wasn’t a mistake he was going to make again.

Though, he had to admit that he was surprised that _Quentin_ didn’t try and move away. He kept himself right where he was, almost nuzzling against Eliot’s wrist from turning his head to look at Alice, and his fingers still toying with the bottom of Eliot’s vest. “Oh, hey. You’re, um, you’re Alice, right?”

A pained look briefly came and went through her eyes. “I am. So, you… you still don’t remember anything?” Her eyes darted to Eliot, taking in the way they stood together, and then went back up to Quentin’s face.

Quentin was already shaking his head. “No, nothing. Though we’ve got quite a few spell ideas that might help.”

“Me too. That’s actually why I’m here. I think I might’ve found one that’ll not only help, but that’s gentle enough to not risk messing with the residual magic from whatever brought you back.” She held her books a little tighter, yet at the same time, she smiled, and it softened everything about her. Eliot watched her and found himself hoping in a way he hadn’t so far. “I looked the spell over, and then I had multiple people check it out. They all say the same thing. If anything is going to help, this seems to have the best chance.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new, but you can find me (and scream with me about Queliot if you want) on twitter @ToTheStarsWrite and on tumblr at https://to-the-stars-writing.tumblr.com/ :) Like I said, both are new, but I'm more than willing to shout about Queliot (and probably some Shadowhunters) with just about anyone :D


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